


Bonds of Love

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Background Relationships, Bechdel Test Pass, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Margaery Tyrell, Bisexual Sansa Stark, Canon Gay Character, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Inspired by Love Actually, Jon Snow is a Stark, Late Night Conversations, Modern Westeros, Multi, Non-Explicit Nudity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Pregnancy, Pregnant Gilly, Romance, Sex Talk, Work In Progress, Ygritte is Tormund Giantsbane's Daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: A 'Love Actually' inspired AU of different GoT relationships, some romantic and some platonic. WIP.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones or Love Actually.

Sitting on some unknown woman’s lap he was just more-or-less pushed towards and trying to stimulate what he’d be doing if this were sex, Tyrion can hear his friend, Bronn, snickering in the distance.

He’s not even sure Bronn’s in the room, but all the same, somewhere, Bronn is snickering.

“Break,” someone calls.

Crawling down, Tyrion takes a proper look at the woman. Willowy with long, slightly wavy black hair and dark brown eyes, he’s surprised to realise she’s dressed much like an ancient Greek peasant woman.

“I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but I’m going to be an actress, someday,” she informs him.

He’s immediately struck by her accent. He hasn’t inherited his sister’s ear for accents, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was Lorathi.

“Your costume is very accurate, my lady,” he comments.

She smiles, and he feels warmth settle through him.

“However, I’m not sure it’s anything near what the animator will draw for the character you’re standing in for.”

Giving a careless shrug, she declares, “When I’m an actress and doing live action, unless a good reason is given, my costuming will be accurate.”

Offering his hand, he says, “I’m Tyrion Lannister.”

Shaking it, she responds, “Shae.”

“Taking after the likes of Madonna and Cher?”

She lightly scoffs. “I don’t sing, and neither of them would ever make it as a serious actress. Shae is the name I’ve chosen for myself. I don’t need any others.”

Suddenly, Bronn appears. “I take it you aren’t going to kill me, then? Seeing as how I found you such a pretty one.”

“Setting aside the fact this woman had the agency to accept such an assignment, a dwarf having sex with a nymph, oh, no, why would I want to kill you over standing in for _that_ ,” he sarcastically replies.

“Well, you don’t see her complaining, do ya?”

“Many men would be overjoyed to be with an actual nymph,” he points out.

“And for reasons I can’t fathom, many women are overjoyed to be with actual dwarf you.”

Before Tyrion can respond, Bronn continues, “We need to see the breasts this time, love.”

Immediately, Shae begins stripping.

Tyrion keeps his eyes firmly on Bronn.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Shae says. “Many men _think_ they’d be overjoyed to be with an actual nymph. Most wouldn’t, if they had the chance.”

Laughing, Bronn says, “Better get back into position.”

Turning, Tyrion sees Shae has resumed lounging on the chaise. He climbs back up, settles between her thighs, and looks off in the distance.

“Look or don’t, but you should know, I’m not bothered if you do,” Shae tells him. “The way people in this country treat the female chest is ridiculous. They feed babies, and they can be fun to play with during sex. Male nipples can be, too.”

Feeling a surge of delight and admiration, Tyrion looks at her. “I agree.”

“Yet, you didn’t look.”

“I don’t wish to make women who feel differently uncomfortable.”

“Good answer.”

Bronn comes back over. “You need to put your hands over her breasts, and love, if you could put your hair up into a bun or summat.”

Shae reaches down, pulls over a nearby bag, and quickly produces several ribbons and pins. While she’s rearranging her hair, Tyrion asks, “Are you comfortable with me touching you in such a way?”

“Yes,” she answers. “I can’t find my mirror. How do I look?”

She’s done up a beautiful, plaited bun with the ribbons and pins subtly adding to the artful design.

“Wonderful, my lady,” he manages to answer. “And even more historically accurate.”

He carefully places his hands where directed, and she nods. “I considered doing this earlier, but I imagined, if a woman was with a man back, then, she likely wouldn’t have her hair up at the time.”

“Sensible,” he says. “You’ve studied Ancient Greece?”

“Enough for this character.”

The technicians come over with cameras, sketchpads, and rulers, and Tyrion privately admits, for once, he doesn’t want to torturously murder Bronn.

…

With a groan, Jon wakes up on the couch in Sam’s caravan.

“Morning,” Sam cheerfully greets. “I told you the bed would be better. Here.”

Jon greedily drinks down the coffee. “You wouldn’t have such a bad back if you weren’t always falling asleep on this ruddy couch.”

Sitting down, Sam gives him a tentative smile. “Besides it, how’d you sleep?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

At Sam’s look, he stretches, groans, and concedes, “I will be.”

“If there’s anything else I can do-” Sam offers.

“Thanks, Sam,” he says. “I’ve got all the essentials. Ygritte can do whatever she wants with the rest of the stuff.”

“Maybe now that there’s been a bit time, the two of you can talk-”

“Sam, it’s been two days since she broke up with me, kicked me out, and now, she’s already with another bloke. It’s pretty clear, whatever I want, we’re well and truly done.”

“Stay as long as you want,” is Sam’s only response.

…

Near a bridge, Brienne slows her run when she sees a small figure crawling near a rubbish bin.

“Hello?”

The figure freezes, and she gets close enough to see two things: It’s a dirty young boy in ill-fitting clothes, and the reason he’s crawling likely has to do with how limp and oddly-angled his leg is.

When she kneels down, he curls into himself as much as possible.

Digging her mobile out, she promises, “I won’t hurt you.” Texting the situation to emergency services, she continues, “My name is Brienne Tarth. Can you tell me yours?”

He looks around, and then, begins tracing on the ground.

“Here,” she digs her day-planner and a pen out of her pockets.

 _Podrick Payne_ , he writes.

“Hello, Podrick. Does your family know you’re out here?”

He shakes his head.

“Where is your family?”

Again, he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she says. “Do you know where they are, though?”

Another headshake is his only response.

…

Hearing someone entering the campus godswood, Sansa looks over to see a pretty girl.

Smiling, the girl waves. “Hi,” she whispers. “Sorry if I’m not supposed to, my family worships the seven, is it appropriate to talk here?”

Making sure she doesn’t laugh, Sansa nods. “Yes, it’s fine,” she tells the girl. “My mother worships the seven. The old gods are my father’s religion. You’re free to sit down or walk around,” she adds.

“Thank you,” the girl says with a beautiful smile. Sitting on the bench, she offers her hand. “Hi, I’m Margaery Tyrell.”

Shaking it, Sansa answers, “Sansa Stark.”

“I’m from Highgarden,” Margaery tells her. “We have a few godswoods there, but I’ve never been. Or well, my family attended a wedding in one when I was two or three, but apparently, I slept through almost all of it.”

“Are you attending or visiting someone here?”

“I just transferred last week. Political science.”

“Interior design,” Sansa says. “If you need help finding something or have questions, I’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why political science?”

“I largely take after my grandmother,” Margaery answers. “Her mother was a suffragist, and when Grandmother was only seventeen, she started her political career.”

Sansa imagines, like Arya, Margaery looks down on her major as trivial and anti-feminist. “That’s nice,” she manages.

“Are you minoring in fashion design?”

There’s nothing but sincere curiosity in Margaery’s tone and face.

“Um, no. I haven’t decided on a major, yet.”

“We’ll need to go shopping soon,” Margaery declares. “I need a new wardrobe, and your clothes are the most stylish I’ve come across so far.”

Flattered, Sansa shyly says, “Oh, well, uh, actually, I did make the skirt.”

Margaery practically beams. “Perhaps, you can teach me how to sew, too. I did okay in a home ec. class, but we never made anything important. When did you learn how?”

Sansa’s watch chimes, and for the first time in a long time, she has the urge to skip her class. “I’m sorry, but I need to get to class. If you’d like to meet up, later, though-”

Margaery already has her phone out. “I’d love to.”

…

After dropping Jon off at the police station, Sam goes to the library and feels his heart speeding up when he sees Gilly sitting near the checking desk.

Going over, he signs in. “Hello, Gilly,” he greets. “How’s the baby doing?”

Rubbing her stomach, she tells him, “He’s fussy today. Is there any food or music I can use to settle him?”

“I’ll look it up.” Starting to do so, he asks, “How are your night classes going?”

“Much better with the audiobooks you found. Do you think babies should be baptised?”

“I’ve always thought parents should make that decision for themselves. Now, circumcision, if you’re for it, it’s better if we both steer clear of that topic with one another.”

She frowns. “Cutting off perfectly good parts of a baby’s private parts, no. I’d hurt anyone who did that to my baby.”

“I won’t say I’m not relieved to hear it. You don’t worship the seven, do you?”

“No,” she answers. “My father worshiped the old gods, but I- I’m not much of a follower?”

“Well, I can find you articles for and against baptising babies.”

“Would you baptise yours?”

“It’d depend on how the mum felt.” Groaning, he says, “Here’s a good one on what foods might help settle him, but I’m sorry, you’re going to need to use the highlighters. The printer is refusing to print in blue font, again. Gods, I swear, we need to get a new one. This one is ancient.”

“Didn’t you get it last year?”

“When it comes to technology, that usually qualifies as ancient.”

She gives him the look making it clear she finds him odd.

…

In bed, Loras looks down at the picture on Renly’s mobile. “Pretty enough. How long is this one going to last?”

Sighing, Renly stretches out. “I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure where Robert found this one, but Stannis finds her acceptable.”

“Fear for your life,” Loras replies.

Glaring, Renly reaches over and pinches at him, and he swats the hand away. “If I help Stannis get elected, eventually, he’ll return the favour. I can do great things in office.”

Again, Loras points out, “You could run yourself.”

“Even your grandmother doesn’t believe that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t mention her right now,” Loras orders.

Taking the mobile and tossing it aside, Renly sits up and kisses him. “Something else you’d rather talk about?”

“What’d I rather doesn’t have near as much talking,” Loras responds as he lies back and pulls Renly along.

…

Tormund watches his daughter practising her archery.

“Is Stark coming over tonight?”

“Probably not,” Ygritte answers. “I tried to drop some stuff off at Judge Stark’s, and it turns out, he hasn’t been staying with them.”

For a time, there’s nothing but the sound of arrows hitting the target.

“If you want him back, you can have that, easy,” he says. “If you’re determined not, though, you know I’ll never try to push ya towards any boy. But don’t act like he broke your heart. You ain’t missing work, and I’m not gonna try to make you feel better. This is all you, all this pain, it’s your doing.”

“And I’ll get through all on my own,” she declares with a jut of her jaw. “A little support would be nice, but I know I’m doing right. I’ll be in the shop bright and early.”

Nodding, he heads inside.


End file.
